The poison, the Raiders, and the very large garage

Like many Americans, I participated last weekend in the annual Poisoning of the Children festival. It may be that you did as well. It may even be that you ushered your children into the killing chambers, waving and smiling and talking to other parents, who were similarly happy with this ritual.

The children even wore menacing costumes and threatened to “trick” me unless I handed over the poison. And, reader, here is the shameful part: I did it. Here’s some chocolate diabetes! Here’s some creamy nougat obesity! Here’s a heart attack — with nuts!

And why did I do it? Why did I, knowing how destructive sugar can be, dole it out generously to the little Princess Leias and miniature Wookiees? (“Star Wars” is a marketing monster that will eat the world by December.)

I blame social pressure.

I didn’t want to be the guy who hands out apples. Or dried apricots. Or UNICEF pledge cards. Or carob balls. I was a kid once; I sometimes skipped the apple guy because I had too many apples in my life already. I wanted candy corn; I wanted Hershey kisses.

The apple guy was the neighborhood nag. If there’d been a NextDoor back then, the apple guy woulda been all over it, complaining about things. Even today, your neighborhood has one of those. He probably has a bicycle and thinks cars should be banned. Or he walks everywhere and hates rude, arrogant bicyclists.

Who wants to be that guy? Who wants to be the brave fellow who takes a stand against giving vampires sugar? Do I wish to see the faces of little children fall when I offer them tofu on toothpicks? I do not. And so I poison the children once a year, and everyone thinks I’m a cool guy.

Our neighborhood is so friendly that people come here from other neighborhoods, so I have the happy knowledge that I am poisoning children of many different backgrounds and ethnicities. It’s a rainbow coalition of death! I’m so proud.

In other news:First, the city of Oakland has to stop doing things to keep the Raiders in town. The mayor has pledged to find a way to retain the miserable bastards who cheated Oakland out of pots of money the first time. What? It’s like this compulsion that American presidents have to engage in wars in the Middle East. Did we learn nothing from past failures?

So stop it. Oakland has many problems, and staff time needs to be taken up solving those. Right? So, Libby, please, rethink the priorities. I speak as a friend.

On the other hand: The team is quite attractive right now. They apparently have the right general manager, the right coach and the right quarterback. They’ll be fun to watch for years to come. It would be nice to retain them.

So here’s the plan: Send the 49ers to Los Angeles. Who wants them now? Hardly anyone. They’ve been destroyed by their owner, who along the way broke the spirit of a pretty good quarterback. They’re a blot on the landscape.

So they go to L.A., and the Raiders take over Levi’s Stadium. They’re one of the few teams for whom that move would be an upgrade. The 49ers don’t care; they make money regardless, because they work for a football cartel. So kick the Niners out (to Los Angeles! perfect!) and let the Raiders move in.

I believe my idea is laced with genius. Get on board, or it’ll be kale remnants in your bag next Halloween.

Not only that: The Chronicle contends that publishing the names of water wasters “raises fears” over privacy. Has that been your experience? Do you go to a party and listen to people say, “Damn those government bureaucrats for pressuring very rich people into saving water”? You do not.

Who’s upset? The very rich people are upset, because they are so used to getting their own way. Does anyone need 12,000 gallons of water a day to be happy? That’s former Chevron executive George Kirkland’s contribution to the statewide emergency.

Reminds me of Mitch Kapor, Internet pioneer and former good guy, who is building some godawful mansion in Berkeley, and was very resistant to the idea that he shouldn’t. Does anyone really need a 6,500-square-foot house with a 3,000-square-foot garage within shouting distance of several Maybecks?

Look, criminal suspects get their names in the paper all the time. Remember Denise Huskins? She’s the Mare Island woman who was abducted and raped, allegedly by a deranged person. The Vallejo police thought she was faking and said so. But it turned out she was telling the truth. Her name with the word “hoax” attached was in the paper for weeks.

And, of course, innumerable black men are convicted of crimes they did not commit. A lot of them get their names mentioned. At least we know that George Kirkland and the rest were guilty. Stop whining, rich people.

“They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance, sitting sad and lonely on jcarroll@sfchronicle.com.